


Idle Threats No More

by kittenwrath



Series: Sister Smith [10]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenwrath/pseuds/kittenwrath
Summary: Rick Sanchez D-79 shares something with all the others -- complete disregard for his own life.  Then why is he still standing?TW: Heavy mention of suicide.
Relationships: Rick D-79/Reader/OC, Rick Sanchez/Original Female Character(s), Rick Sanchez/Reader
Series: Sister Smith [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1121088
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Idle Threats No More

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s some short angsty crap that spewed from my brain, don’t ask me why. These two have come back to haunt me.

He’d attempted it more than once. Several times? Yes, but he’d lost count. And, did it really even _count_ if his heart continued to beat rhythmically behind the rib cage that had been littered with hairlines and outright fractures?

_“A cry for help.”_

He’d heard that line again and again. Though, never in the context of his own life; never to describe his own attempts. Because, they were kept secret. Always, he’d travel off planet and promise himself – this was it. With every intention to rid himself from the universe he currently inhabited. An infinite number would still go on; still continue to plague their family and so-called friends; still continue to despise themselves and make those in their proximity to suffer. 

And, it was all so pointless. He was a coward. All his attempts, completely futile. Deliberately so? Of course. If he’d really _wanted_ to end it all, he’d done so years prior. Cowardice prevailed with each attempt and cowardice justified a renewed will to live each time he awoke – an empty bottle of any liquor one could imagine alongside empty pill containers, slit wrists, a slit throat, sloppily discharged weapons, the wreckage of a ship, countless illegal substances and so on. And so on. And so on. 

Now, here he was again – contemplating one more method and one more attempt. Except, there were no more secrets. Confessions spilled from his lips as I sat on my worn living room sofa. My own heart, thumping with such speed and force that I felt dizzy and nauseous; my hands trembling, despite my best efforts to keep them clasped and still in my lap. 

Why? Why now? I could scarcely comprehend his words, his voice much too thick with unveiled emotion. I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to bite off his own tongue to cease the putrid flow. Perhaps he’d even choke on the severed lump of flesh, silencing him once and for all. But my wish was unheard because it remained unspoken. My voice would betray me, in the same manner of his.

What I wished to say – _”Do it! Do it! Fucking DO IT ALREADY!”_ – would instead be twisted and deformed and coddling and placating. Who was the coward? I was no longer sure…

So, he continued. And, for a moment, I thought that he may cry. All the biological cues where present. Hitching deep breaths, furrowed brow, twisted grimace to display internal agony, red rimmed and glassy eyes. Yet, no tears. Had he ever actually shed one in his life? Did it even matter?

Finally, I’d had enough. The reeking stench of desperation had finally reached my nostrils and I was seconds from gagging. 

“Are you finished yet?” I asked, standing from the sofa as he attempted to inch closer from the side he occupied. “Chris is going to be home from work soon.”

“Wha – what? I-I-I – where are you going?!” He tripped over his words for the first time since he’d begun his guilt trip, his carefully crafted ‘composure’ cracking as I paced the room.

“You must think I’m really stupid,” I began, ignoring his question and the way he scrambled from the sofa to approach me. “You’re the smartest man in the universe and you expect me to believe you’d kill yourself… over _me?_ Give me a break.”

“Wait!” He’d closed the distance between us and grasped my forearm. But his grip was loose and I effortlessly wrenched away. “You’re not – you don’t understand! You’re the one who said – told me I need to be honest. T-t-that’s what I’m doing, okay!”

“By trying to guilt me? I truly can’t believe you’d stoop this low, Rick. You can go anywhere, do anything. _HAVE anyone else!_ ” 

I continued to pace, my heels stomping the hardwood as he finally stepped back and observed. Rage overtook me, so keen and hot and all consuming. My vision clouded, tinged red, moments after my eyes landed on the clock hanging above my mantle. Chris would walk through that door any second. This was the absolute final straw. _I_ was a coward no more.

“Just do it.” 

The atmosphere seemed to crackle with _something_ undefined between us for an undetermined amount of time. Four seconds? Maybe eight? I couldn’t tell for sure as my vision was once again clouded – no longer in red, but green. Brilliant green that swirled and shimmered. Vibrant and glowing green that I’d seen at least a hundred times before. Only now, it emerged on my hardwood floor, under the despicable man’s feet.

“Just do it,” I whispered once more as he was swallowed whole. Then, the front door opened. 

**_The End_ **


End file.
